


Younger More Beautiful

by Bellatrix_Wannabe_89



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Valonqar Prophecy, post 8x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:43:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellatrix_Wannabe_89/pseuds/Bellatrix_Wannabe_89
Summary: “You have to go to him.”Brienne looked up from the floor, her body beginning to tremble but rather it was from fear or adrenaline she couldn’t say.“Cersei will win if you don’t. The man you love will die if you don’t. There’s not much time, you have to go south for him, Brienne. You have to save him.”Takes place immediately after 8X04. Bran reveals just how big a role Brienne has to play in the upcoming war. It wasn’t to wait meekly in the snows of the North protecting the Stark girls; it was to be by the side of the man she loved.





	Younger More Beautiful

Brienne wasn’t sure how long she stayed out there staring at the gates as the snows fell and the northern winds whipped violently around her, her tears long since frozen on her cheeks.

Jaime wasn’t coming back. This wouldn’t be like the bear pit, he wouldn’t come charging in on his white steed, take her in his arms, kiss her as fiercely as he had done every night these past six weeks and apologize for hurting her. He was going back to Kingslanding. 

To Cersei.

To that toxic bitch who didn’t think of him as a good man, who didn’t think he was an honorable man, who didn’t love him. Worst than going back to her, he was going to die trying to save his sister, and Brienne wouldn’t be able to save him just like she wasn’t able to save Lord Renly or Lady Stark. 

She closed her eyes as a fresh onset of tears came on, her teeth starting to clatter as that infamous northern cold started to seep through her rob. She knew she was going to get sick if she didn’t get in soon but she couldn’t find it in her to care.  But eventually the sting of the northern winter was too much for her southern bones. 

So, forcing herself to turn away from the empty open gates, she made her way back into the castle, half hoping that she would hear him galloping back in and calling out to her but the only sounds she heard were the dull roar of the winds.

A guard she passed by asked her if she was alright but she ignored him. There were plenty of things Brienne was exceptional at and lying was not one of them.

When she finally reached her chambers and shut the door behind her she didn’t even have the strength to make it to her bed and instead slid down the door, brought her knees to her chest and wept, hard.

She was sure others could hear her (how could they not?) but at that moment she didn’t care about her shame or embarrassment. She didn’t care about anything but the fact the man she loved was on his way to die for a woman who wouldn’t think anything of his sacrifice.

When there were no more physical tears left to cry and a deep emptiness replaced her sorrow she pushed herself up from the ground and made her way to the bed that she had recently shared with him. 

Even under the thick blankets and with a roaring fire that he often complained about Brienne felt a chill in the air and she shivered as she burrowed deeper under the furs.

_ It’s because you’ve grown used to him sleeping next to you, _ she realized as she turned away from his side of the bed. His body had been warm and comforting and fit around hers perfectly and a thousand year winter couldn’t have made her chill when he slept beside her.

Not to mention the warm tingling between her legs some mornings when she awoke by Jaime peppering her shoulder or neck or back with soft kisses, urging her awake so they could continue what they had started the night before.

Now there was nothing but an empty side of the bed reminding her of what and who he choose. 

Eventually sleep won out and she was thrust into a night of nightmares full of Jaime riding his horse head on into a city full of flames crying out his sisters name the same as he had called out Brienne’s when he was inside her.

When she awoke the next morning for one second, for one glorious moment, she thought it has all been a nightmare. She would look over and Jaime would be sleeping beside her and all thoughts of Cersei firmly set aside from both of their minds.

But then reality sunk in like a smith swinging a hammer and she remembered what happened. She remembered waking up to him shutting the door and seeing his armor and sword gone, remembered the pained look in his eyes when he told her he wasn’t a good man, remembered the painful lump in her throat when she begged him to stay with her.

When she sank back into her pillow a fresh wave of tears started. Is this how it would be from now on? Every morning started with tears and every night would conclude with sobs over a man who would rather be with his murderous sister than her?

Brienne truly hoped not.

She laid there in bed for a long while staring up at her ceiling painted with the quartered rose and azure colors of Tarth. Normally she would be up before the sun, training on her own to keep herself strong until the sun rose above the horizon but now them first rays of morning were streaming through her window but she couldn’t find the strength to move.  The smell of bacon and fresh bread was wafting into her room but she didn’t want to eat. She could hear the clang of tourney swords outside but she didn’t want to join in the fight. She didn’t want to do anything but lay here in bed, ignoring the world and everything else in it until the Stranger took its final kiss from her.

Which is what she was doing quite exceptionally until there was a small tap on her door.

“Ser Brienne?” a voice of one of the servants called through the wood. “Are you alright? Lady Sansa noticed you weren’t at breakfast this morning.”

“I’m fine.” Brienne cringed at the way she spoke, heavy and wet and full of misery. She took a deep breath to try to get some semblance of normalcy in her voice. “I wasn’t hungry this morning.”

“Understood. But she also sent me to fetch you if you’re feeling well enough to have an audience with her.”

Brienne closed her eyes, fighting to keep the exasperation from her tone. Why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone? “Tell Lady Sansa I still have to ready myself for the day but I’ll be down shortly.”

“Of course, Ser.”

She waited until she heard the retreating footsteps of the serving girl before she sat up in the bed and winced. Every inch she moved felt as if she was running a mile in full plate, and there was such a heaviness in her chest it felt like the whole of Winterfell was sitting on top of her.

She thought she had known heartbreak when she sat in the sept watching Renly marry Marjorie but she realized that had been a flea bite compared to what she was feeling now. 

Still, Lady Sansa wanted Brienne's attention, for whatever bloody reason, and she still had an oath to fulfill. 

Sansa, who had taken glee in the fact that Cersei was now in danger and bragged to Jaime about the Queens possible execution, needed her right now. If Sansa had bothered to hold her tongue just once rather than taunt him-

_ No! _ Brienne chastised herself harshly as she finally pulled herself out of the bed.  _ This isn’t her fault. Sansa never liked Jaime, she shouldn’t have to stay silent in her own home just to make a Lannister comfortable. Jaime choose to leave.  _

Not to mention Sansa was the one who offered to keep Jaime here as a guest for Brienne. Her lady knew what the Knights meant to one another and had been willing to host him in her hall not once but twice for Brienne’s sake.

This was on Jaime, no one else. 

Brienne could hardly be bothered readying herself this morning (not that it took much maintenance anyway) but the steps she did normally take, chewing on a mint leaf to get the foul morning taste from her breath and washing the night from her seemed to take all of her energy to the point she didn’t bother with the time it took to slick back what would have been soft curls if she allowed her hair to grow out. So instead she simply let her pale blonde locks fall in her face today and hoped nobody would comment on it.

Brienne went over to her dresser and looked at the clothes she owned, all of them meticulously folded and creased. She didn’t have that many options but the ones she did have all seemed to have some connection to him.

He loved her in blue. He said it was a good color on her that went well with her ‘astonishing eyes’ (which was why he made her suit of armor that particular shade) so any shirt in the blue range was right out.

Then there was a rose colored shirt with the yellow sunburst and crescent moon of Tarth sown on its shoulders that he actually had made for her just two weeks ago. It wasn’t basic wool like the rest of her clothes but soft expensive silk with a, she noticed, particularly loose lace-up system that could easily be undone with one hand. It felt soft and nice against her skin and it reminded her of her times in Tarth before her father gave her leave to go to Renly Baratheon’s camp where she wore castle tailored clothes that all noblewomen wore that she would end up ripping when she was fighting or training.

She only wore the rose shirt twice, the day he gave it to her and the night before he left actually. She would never tell him, nor anyone else, but when she looked into the mirror after she tried it on and saw the way it draped across her shoulders to make them appear not so broad and cinched at the waist to give her a bit of a shape and saw how surprisingly well the color went with her pale skin and paler hair was one of the only times in her life she felt beautiful. 

It made her feel feminine without being excessive like that god awful pink dress Lord Bolton had forced her into, it was a man’s shirt design like she preferred but it was clearly made to be worn on a woman’s body, it was made for a Ser and a Lady.

It was perfect for Brienne. And thanks to him, she would never wear it again.

Jaime hated the color grey. He told her that being in the North surrounded by cold winds and stern faces and grey stone was just too glum for his taste and that boring drab color seemed to be the Northmens favorite color,m. Not to mention the color, according to him, dulled Brienne’s eyes.

So, obviously, that morning she grabbed the most boring stern drabbest grey shirt she owned.

As she laced up her shirt excessively tight Brienne hopelessly tried to push away not only the memories of their first night where she had untied it herself but the nights after where Jaime proved that when he was sober he had no problem getting either of them undressed with minimal assistance.

When she walked over to her armor she hesitated before she ran her long fingers over the deep blue metal that Jaime gave her what felt like a lifetime ago. Most lords gave their ladies flowers or necklaces or diamond rings but Jaime gave Brienne something better, something far more precious and valuable than all the gold earrings and silk dresses in Kingslanding.

He gave her armor, and a sword fit for a highborn knight with a squire to go along with it.

Tears pricked at her eyes again that she blinked away when she ran her hand over Oathkeepers scabbard. She had to get control of herself, she couldn’t be in tears every time something reminded her of him otherwise she might never be able to go ten minutes without crying.

Brienne withdrew her hand from the scabbard as if it burned her, forcing herself to take a shaking breath. 

No. She wouldn’t put herself through this, she wouldn’t torture herself just for a suit of armor and a sword. Later that day she would visit the smiths and have a new plate made along with a new sword. 

So Brienne left her room without so much as her studded chainmail and in just a pair of simple brown trousers and her dark grey shirt, trying to ignore the feeling that she might as well have been walking around nude and rather walked with her head held high. She made her way to Sansa’s chambers and knocked on the door, walking in when she was bid.

The red headed Lady of Winterfell looked up from her writings at her desk and her eyes traveled over her rather curiously. “Where’s your armor? And your sword?”

“It just felt a bit too heavy to wear today, My Lady.”

Sansa nodded slowly before she took a deep breath. “The Kingslayers gone.”

Her voice was stoic, as it usually was when conducting affairs but there was a sliver of something that made Brienne feel as if she was 8 years old and getting scolded for playing with her father’s arrows.

“Yes,” was all the tall blonde could say.

“Which side is he riding south for?”

“Cersei’s.”

The name was bitter on Briennes tongue and sent a shudder down her spine. That word that both had avoided speaking for the whole time they were together, knowing the weight of that name.

Until last night. When he told her all the terrible things he did and would have done... for Cersei.

It was fleeting, but the blonde caught a flash of anger in her lady’s eyes. “You vouched for him. You stood beside him and asked me to place my trust in him.”

Brienne didn’t even blink. “I did.”

“He’s sat in on war meetings and council meetings, he knows Jon’s plans, he knows the Dragon Queen’s plans, he knows the north’s weaknesses.”

“My Lady, I-.”

“Not to mention what you might have told him that he wasn’t supposed to be privy to.”

A flicker of annoyance scraped at her. “My Lady, I have never, and would never betray your confidence.”

_ Nor would he have ever asked me too _ .

“No you would just let the man who attacked my father in between your legs.”

A scarlet blush burned her cheeks as hot as the Smith’s forge but Brienne would not back down. She had been pushed to the edge past the point of caring about manners and honor and a Ladies courtesy and all the rest of that.

Sansa deserved respect not only as the woman she was pledged too but the Lady of the North. But Brienne was the future Evenstar. She was the descendant of the Storm Kings and the Kings of Tarth, of Ser Duncan the Tall and Daella Targaryen. It was faint and diluted but Brienne had the blood of the dragon in her.

And she would not let a wolf pup speak to her that way, no matter how many oaths she swore.

Brienne drew herself up to her fullest height, staring down at Sansa who met her stare head on. “With all due respect, My Lady, my personal life much less who I allow ‘between my legs’ is none of your concern. I am sworn to protect you, and I will do so until my last breath or until you release me from my vow. I would give my life for yours if need be, but you do not have the right to chastise me for my choice in bedside partners.”

The two women starred one another down and Brienne must have been going crazy because she could have sworn to the Mother that she saw a flicker of a hint of a smile on the red head’s lips.

Sansa leaned back in her chair, staring up at Brienne. “If it wasn’t for our friendship and your loyalty all these years I would send fifty of my guards after him with an order to bring back nothing but his head and that golden hand of his so I could send them both to Cersei.”

Brienne struggled to keep tears from leaping to her eyes. That had been the worst part of him leaving, knowing it was certain death (the fact he was going to Cersei was just an added dagger in her heart). She would have gone down south and brought Cersei to him if it kept him safe, she would have never touched him ever again if that’s what he wanted, she would’ve done whatever it took to keep him safe in Winterfell away from that shit stain of a city.

“You… you do what needs to be done, My Lady.” 

Sansa must have caught the tears that she was trying desperately to hide because the coldness left her expression for a moment and she softened somewhat. “I wouldn’t risk sending that many men south when he has this much of a head start. But I will need to send ravens to Jon and tell him what’s happened.”

Brienne said nothing, just watched as Sansa took a deep breath and clutches her fingers together. “I am sorry he hurt you though and I’m sorry he abandoned you.”

“Thank you, My Lady.”

“I know Cersei,” Sansa continued. “She digs her claws into people rips them apart and they can’t escape it, not without falling to their deaths.” Sansa locked eyes with her protector. “Ser Jaime managed to escape her, even if it was only for a little while. He escaped for  _ you,  _ Brienne _ ,  _ he wanted to stay in Winterfell for  _ you _ . She just managed to snare him again and unfortunately her claws were stronger than his heart.”

Tears rushed to Brienne’s eyes that she blinked away but the wetness was still there and a blush started to creep up her neck.

“Might I be excused, My Lady?”

She had embarrassed herself more than enough today.

Sansa just nodded and with a quick bow the knight turned and left her Ladies chambers and, after pausing in her chambers to splash some cold water in her face, she headed out to the Smith’s forge. The moment she stepped outside she shuddered from the winds and icy snows, the cold easily sleeping through her thin shirt. She never realized just how warm her armor and mail kept her.

Brienne headed to the Forbes where, like she had every time she saw the black haired Smith, she had to pause for a moment. If Renly had more strength to him then he and Gendry could have been twins and it always took Brienne aback whenever she saw those blue eyes and that course black hair walking around Winterfell just how much he looked to her former Lord.

Brienne shook away the far and few lingering feelings she had for the stag king and walked over to the smith who was making the steel sing like a bird.

“My Lord,” Brienne greeted as she approached him with a polite bow of her head. He didn’t answer. “My Lord?” Another swing of the hammer. “Gendry.”

He finally looked up from the sword he was making to look at Brienne. “Hmm? Oh. Sorry, my mind was somewhere else.”

“No apologies necessary, My Lord.”

He almost flinched at the use of his new title.  Even after over a month it seemed as if he still wasn’t used to it. “What can I do for you, M’lady?”

Brienne pulled out a slip of parchment with her measurements on it as well as the specifications and preferences and handed it to the black haired Smith. “If it pleases My Lord, I’m in need of a new suit of armor as well as a new sword and mail.”

Gendry furrowed his brow at the tall knight. “I’ve seen your armor and your sword, it’s better quality than anything you could find in Winterfell.”

“I- I know, but it’s… I've grown tired of it.”

Gendry’s blue eyes searched over Brienne’s for a moment. “He had it made for you didn’t he?”

His words weren’t cruel or harsh or even skeptical. They were, oddly enough, rather sympathetic. “I don’t know what you’re-.”

“I’ve been around Lannister steel all my life, M’lady. I know what it looks like.”

Brienne bowed her head for a moment before she looked up at him. “He did, My Lord.”

“And now he’s gone.”

Brienne purses her lips at the newly made lord. “And now he’s gone. My Lord, I-.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sounded strangely sincere. More than that he was sympathetic. Brienne searches over his face and saw an unfortunate kinship to her own heartache. “I… I bet it feels like the whole of Winterfell is sitting atop your chest right now.” 

She swallowed hard and nodded, watching as his stormy eyes fluttered to a long broken double edged spear on the wall. “That’s exactly what it feels like…”

Gendry lowered his eyes for a moment before he cleared his throat and looked back at her. “I’ll get right on this, M’lady.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

He offered her a smile. “And hey, from what I’ve seen any man who could leave someone like you is just a nasty little shit.”

Her eyes went wide. “What did you say?” she breathed.

Gendrys face fell. “I- I’m sorry, is… I- I guess a lord isn’t supposed to say stuff like that anymore.”

Brienne cleared her throat and shook her head. “No… no, it’s- apologies, My Lord.” She gifted another rare soft smile. “I’ve been around Baratheon lords all my life, I promise you you’re not out of order with your language.”

He cocked his head at her. “I thought you were a Tarth.”

“I am. House Tarth is sworn to House Baratheon. You’re actually my leige lord.”

The way his eyes bugged out of his head was almost comical. 

“I have houses sworn to me,” he said as if he was just now realizing that fact and Brienne had a strong suspicion that was exactly what had just happened.  

“You do, My Lord. Twelve in fact.”

“Twelve?!”

Brienne bit her lip, watching as Gendry sank down onto the metal anvil and for a moment she thought he might be sick.

“I’ll… just leave you to your work then, My Lord.”

With a graceful bow Brienne turned and left the new Stormlord alone with his thoughts. 

When she walked back into the castle her stomach began grumbling. It was almost midday, she realized as she made her way towards the kitchens, not wanting to dine in the great hall but she realized starvation wouldn’t bring him back or keep him safe.

She heard male voices laughing and talking in the entryway of the kitchens, something she didn’t think anything of until she got closer and looked into the kitchens where she saw a group of men surrounding some Northerner who worked in the kennels.

“So he’s standing there right?” The first voice said to a captive audience. “And shes on her knees, begging, crying… ‘Kingslayer please!’,” he said in a falsetto voice that apparently was meant to impersonate Brienne. “I know I ain’t got as big of tits as the Queen but I can still make ya happy!’.”

Brienne blushed a scarlet red and her hand clenched into a fist as she heard the listeners laugh at the bold faced lie.

“And he just looks down at her and tells her ‘sorry, Love, but this’.” He grabbed his crotch. “ ‘Has to stay in the family’.” Another laugh from the men. “So he rides on out and she’s kneeling there crying, already in prime position if ya know what I mean… I come out from hiding, put a hand on her shoulder, look into her eyes and tell her ‘you don’t want cock that’s been in its sister. You deserve better than that a Kingslayer.’ And, I swear to the Gods I wouldn’t lie about this, she’s so grateful for the comfort she yanks down me trouser and takes me right in her mouth right out in the courtyard.”

Brienne rolled her eyes to the ceiling as the sounds of laughter followed her as she walked away.

She had suddenly lost her appetite. 

The knight sighed as she climbed the steps to her chambers where she was graced with a surprise guest.

“Good afternoon, My Lord,” she greeted Bran, trying her best to hide her discomfort with the young Stark waiting outside her room.

“I’m not a lord,” he corrected her in that deadpan voice that, not like she would ever admit it, unnerved her. “I’m the three eyed raven.”

Brienne modded slowly, trying her best to ignore his dead-panned stare. “My apologies. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I don’t need help with anything,” he informed her.

“...I see. Well then if you’ll pardon me.”

Brienne went to walk past him and had just opened the door to her chambers when he spoke again.

“But he does.”

The tall knight froze in her step, swallowing hard, not having to ask who ‘he’ was. She turned back towards Bran who was staring up at her, as emotionally void as ever, his eyes staring directly into her soul.

“He choose Cersei,” she told the young Stark, failing at trying to pretend his words weren’t cutting her deep with terror. “If he needs help he can ask her for it.”

“He didn’t choose her,” he said. “He choose you. He left for you, he thinks leaving will keep you safe.”

She swallowed hard, Brans words screaming in his ears that he had chosen her. “Safe from what?” 

“There was a prophecy made about Cersei when she was young that she never told anyone. The only one who knew was the girl with her when she was told. She pushed down a well that same night in order to keep her secret.”

Brienne swallowed hard at the causal mention of the lioness murdering a young girl. Even when Cersei was a child she was mad, angry.

Hateful.

But that was pushed away from her thoughts as the overall message of what Bran was telling her. Brienne has never believed in prophecies and magic and sorcery. She believed in the Gods, to a degree, but hadn’t she fought against death itself? Hadn’t three dragons hatched when their mother walked into a pyre and remained unburnt? Bran himself was proof there was old magic in this world. 

But even still… 

“There’s, a- a prophecy? About Cersei?”

“Yes.”

“That involves Jaime?”

Brienne waited for him to answer as he leaned back in his chair and stared straight ahead, his eyes seeing through the walls and into to a whole other world and time that only he could see. She held her breath as he began speaking words from years and years past.

“ _ And when your tears have drowned you, _ ” said Bran, repeating words he had no right or business knowing.  _ “The valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you. _ ”

Brienne swallowed hard as his cryptic words sank in. Jaime didn’t choose Cersei, he didn’t choose Cersei at all. He wasn’t going south to save her… “He went south to kill her.”

“Yes.” The Stark turned his head to look up at her. “She always thought it was Tyrion but she misconstrued the words. It was Jaime. It was always meant to be Jaime. He knew how dangerous it would be for you if you followed him, he was trying to protect you. That’s why he broke your heart.”

For one moment she felt an uncontrollable joy flood her and replace all of the pain and heartache that had filled her very soul since he rode through that gate last night.

Just as she allowed herself a smile, Brans next words sent all of her short lived joy. “He’s going to fail though.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The whole world stopped spinning and she felt like she was floating away. The why Jaime left didn’t matter, the reasons behind his cold words didn’t matter he was still going to die for the Queen. He was going to fail…

She was so lost that she almost missed Bran’s next words. “Unless you rise south to help him. You have a part to play as well.”

“What?” Brienne cringed at the tears in her voice. “I-... I’m in-... what?”

“ _ Queen you shall be,”  _ said Bran again, speaking the words that had been spoken to Cersei so long ago in that dirty cave. “ _ Until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.” _

Brienne pursed her lips at the chair bound wolf, a familiar rage she had dealt with since childhood rearing its ugly head. 

“You’re toying with me,” she said with a sharpness that she prayed hid her pain. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not.”

“Younger and ‘ _ more beautiful _ ’? Do you take me for a fool?”

“You are the most beautiful woman in Westeros, Brienne.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing past him rather violently to open her door. “We’re done here.”

“Brienne.”

“What?!” she barked, twisting around to face him, not caring for courtesies or highborn patience.

He merely looked up at her as calm and still as a sea.  “I never said a word about outer beauty…”

The anger melted from her face and a fearful realization replaced it. She swallowed hard, suddenly finding it nearly impossible to meet Bran’s eyes.

“You have to go to him.” 

Brienne looked up from the floor, her body beginning to tremble but rather it was from fear or adrenaline she couldn’t say. 

“Cersei will win if you don’t. The man you love will die if you don’t. There’s not much time, you have to go south for him, Brienne. You have to save him.”

That was all of the encouragement she needed. She walked into her room, shutting the door beside her and tore off her grey shirt and grabbed her rose colored shirt, pulling it on, not even able to savor the silky feel against her skin before she grabbed the armor he had made for her and her sword, the twin sword to his own, put it on, and stormed out of her room, not even looking at the young Stark as she walked quickly past him. 

She would send a raven to Sansa explaining why she had to leave on such short notice but for now she had to grab a horse and ride as fast and as hard as she ever had in her life. She had even stupid to believe him, she knew he would never abandon her. Even if she set aside prophecies and fate and third eye ravens and magic that she still wasn’t that convinced of, she still had to go to him. 

Jaime needed her, and she needed him. And come seven hells or high water, Brienne was going to save him.

 

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